D. Keep. And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep. My lord archbishop; But reverence to your calling makes me modest. Your grace may enter now. Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty, (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment, We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' plea sure, And our consent, for better trial of you, Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You are always my good friend; if your will pass, Gar. Good master secretary, Crom. Gar. Not sound, I say. Not sound? 'Would you were half so honest; Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom. Remember your bold life too. Do. This is too much; I have done. Forbear, for shame, my lords. I take it, by all voices, that forthwith Is there no other way of mercy, some. Let some o'the guard be ready there. Enter Guard. Cran. Must I go like a traitor thither? Gar. And see him safe i'the Tower. Cran. For me? Receive him, Stay, good my lords, I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring. Sur. "Tis no counterfeit. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves. Nor. Do you think, my lords The king will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd? Cham. 'Tis now too certain, How much more is his life in value with him. 'Would I were fairly out on't. Crom. My mind gave me, In seeking tales, and informations, Against this man (whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,) Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye. In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; That holy duty, out of dear respect, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: K. Hen. Chan. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men) meant for his trial, And fair purgation to the world, than malice; I am sure, in me. K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Am, for his love and service, so to him. I have a suit which you must not deny me; Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you? Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar. And brother-love, I do it. Cran. With a true heart, And let Heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.— Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris garden?2 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.3 [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them.-I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May day morning; which will never be We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow them down before me: but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God save her. [Within.] Do you hear, master porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together. Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o'my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar piece, to blow us. wit near him, that railed upon me till her pink'd porringers fell off her head, for kindling such a com bustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, Clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw There was a haberdasher's wife of small K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter-staff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly bury (1) It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons to their god-children. (2) The bear-garden on the Bank-side. (3) Roaring. a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw (4) Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. (5) Pink'd cap. (6) The brazier. mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. is to come. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, endure. I have some of them in limbo patrum,'|| When she has so much English. and there they are like to dance these three days; Cran. Let me speak, sir, besides the running banquet of two beadles,2 that For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. This royal infant (Heaven still move about her!) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be (But few now living can behold that goodness,) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her; Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here! There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these Cham. As I live, Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth. Flourish. Enter King, and Train. My noble partners, and myself, thus pray:- K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop; K. Hen. Elizabeth. Stand up, lord.- (1) Place of confinement. (3) Black leather vessels to hold beer. Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, In her days, every man shall eat in safety ror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, children Shall see this, and bless Heaven. Thou speakest wonders. (6) This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James. I have receiv'd much honour by your presence; And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think He has business at his house; for all shall stay, This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE. 'TIS ten to one, this play can never please For such a one we show'd them: If they smile, The play of Henry the Eighth is one of those which still keeps possession of the stage by the splendor of its pageantry. The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together in multitudes for a great part of the winter. Yet pomp is not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows, and virtuous distress, of Katharine, have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered. among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written. JOHNSON. Antenor, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. Alexander, servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to Diomedes. Helen, wife to Menelaus. Andromache, wife to Hector. Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess. Greeks. Cressida, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, : With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, (1) Proud, disdainful. (2) Freight. (3) Shut. (4) Avaunt, what went before. Troilus. CALL here my varlet,5 I'll unarm again: Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended? Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word-hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, (6) Habit. (5) A servant to a knight. |